On Account of that Demmed Elusive (pimpernelfic)
by Briavael
Summary: Two young ladies suspect the Pimpernel. Set during the time of the first book.
1. That Demmed Idiot

Prologue

Is it not amazing how human beings can be so insolently callous, without flinching at their own monstrosity, as to make such an insult in the face of their fellow men by simply ignoring them in their hour of greatest need. Such is society, in all its feted and justified perversity, compelling men to turn away and tend to their own comfort at the ignored persons' expense. Yet this was hardly uncommon in the year of Grace 1792. Though the two countries shared a bloody history, it seemed that in the face of the extinction of the French aristocracy, England, proud and free, would be willing to extend a helping hand to her sister France. But this was not so, beyond half-hearted negotiation, which hardly counted as anything at all, for all the influence it yielded. Yet even these [petty] endeavors had all butceased by the aforementioned year of Grace 1792, and England seemed content to watch the drama unfold from her veritable opera box across the waters. Such were the times, and there was very little todo about it. 

Then, as if the Deity Himself thought to send an avenging angel, a mysterious individual, known only as the Scarlet Pimpernel, began carrying out daring and wily schemes to free those condemned to Madame Guillotine in Paris. The small, English flower, also known as "poor man's weather glass", became the symbol of the daring champion of the guillotine and his league of companions. No one knew who this enigmatic hero was, they only knew he (for he was male, that was certain) was an Englishman, who seemed to enjoy sporton a life-threatening level. It was argued in the lavish parlors and dining halls of stately England as to whether this man was mad, or unwilling--as many Englishmen were--to reveal his true compassionate and empathetic nature. Women of the time adored him; men wanted to be him, though likely only for the social advantages. And so it was that the Scarlet Pimpernelbecame the pride and gossip of all England.   
  


**That Demmed Idiot**

"We seek him here, we seek him there,  
those Frenchies seek him everywhere.  
Is he in heaven, or is he in hell?  
That demmed, elusive Pimpernel !" 

Such was quoted by Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., one evening at the Lord Grenville's ball. Some suspected he had conjured up the slightly offensive--though terribly amusing--quatrain to belittle Lord Grenville's only French guest. But this was no ordinary Frenchman, but a high-ranking official in the new revolutionist government, which, for obvious reasons, was less then highly revered or respected by the English noblesse, as the French were wont to call them. 

Quite the fashion demi-god of modern England, Sir Percy was well-loved by all, despite his obvious lack of brains. He was rich, and that was the only qualification needed by modern society to be taken under her wing. Thus the quite handsome, yet undeniably stupid Baronet was doted upon and petted by society, and all the exclusive upperclasses. 

However, if one were to take closer stock of those present at that night's fashionable frippery, one would note Blakeney's beautiful, witty, and undeniably French wife. One would think that surely Blakeney had erred, and carelessly forgotten his own wife's nationality (which he had so blatantly insulted). And yet if one was an astute observer, and had watched the couple together, one would note the air of emotional estrangement and lack of warmth between the two people, which is so vital in any marriage. One could conjecture about what was passing between them, to cause such a lack of typical matrimonial admiration for oneanother. Was that cruel shaft aimed at perhaps more that one victim?--or was Blakeney simplytoo stupid to realize his gaping err? 

Such was the juicy topic being discussed and relished by two young ladies at the far wall of the vast ballroom, where Blakeney had only minutes ago recited his latest fit of questionable genius. They were by name, Miss Cayliegh Aaron and Miss Catherine Yorkshire, the best of friends, and likely the two most popular girls in their university's Department of the Arts. Miss Cayliegh was a writer, Miss Catherine an actress, and both showed great talent in their favorite hobby: sketching. This made them undeniably dangerous, in a domestic sense. Their political cartoons were the center of entertainment for the university girls, who, in their naiveté, accepted these mockeries as factual; these two witty young artists practically held sway over the political views of their prestigious university. The only reason they weren't restrained was because women had no say in politics anyway, so what harm was it to let these pampered princesses play with their fellow students' minds? After all, the professors did dwell on them so, and they being so deceptively charming and lax when in their professors' presence, that the latter mentioned hadn't the slightest idea that they, too, were having the wool gently pulledover their eyes. 

How they laughed together at Sir Percy's inanities with perfectly emulated authenticity, and bantered with the young men, pretending not to understand or take note of their deep discussions on political debate. How wily were they indeed, and (to the great expense of manya young man's heart) beautiful to match their wiles. 

Miss Cayliegh had the petite figure of a girl, and the well-defined features of a womanly face. Though her nose would not be described as 'classic', the rest of her features bespoke that of the classic 'cameo' appearance--that being the accepted identity of modern beauty. She had a tapered chin, small mouth, and large, languid blue eyes, but it was her spiraling golden tresses (free from any powder) that were the glimmer in the eye of many a young schoolboy. Cayliegh was tall, above the average, and, completing her external look of unaffectedinnocence, she had a slight, almost elfin bone structure. 

Almost all this was directly in contrast with her companion, Miss Catherine. Catherine barely achieved the classification of average height, womanly in figure but child-like in face. Her nose was classic, or aristocratic as it is sometimes called, her large eyes were a clear, dark brown, and crowned with the angled classic brow. Her rounded chin was complimentary to her full lips which turned upwards at the corners, thus accounting for her child-like expression. Though not quite as small in bone as Cayliegh, Catherine still had what was considered a small bone structure; and like Cayliegh, Catherine was known for her hair. Catherine had a variable mane of dark red spirals that fell over her white shoulders like awaterfall. 

But now that you know of the physical appearance of these two young ladies, let us listen to their conversation, which concerned the [intentional?] insult of Sir Percy Blakeney to hisbrilliant, French wife. 

"Seems uncharacteristic of Sir Percy to aim such a shaft at his own wife, whom heappeared to adore." Cayliegh reasoned to her companion. 

"Indeed, my impression of his loyalty was as you have said...that of deepest admiration. La! 'Twere almost to the point of worship, methought." Catherine said, half her attention stillfocused on Blakeney and his lady. 

"Lud love her," Cayliegh sighed sympathetically, "for all his dashing good-looks, money,and gentlemanly manner--" 

"...and sense of style," Catherine put in. 

"...yes, and style...I do believe I would go mad if I were she; he being so inane andsaturated in foppish ways." Miss Cayliegh's speculations were interrupted by a whispered, yetforceful exclamation from her colleague. 

"Zounds!" Catherine hissed. Then at her friend's obvious look of reproach she added, "Forgive me that, but I believe that little Frenchman just beat our dear poet Sir Percy at cards." 

"What game was it?" 

"I can't tell, they're in the other room--I just read the Prince of Wales's lips." Both girls paused a moment. Catherine lifted a delicate eyebrow disdainfully and Cayliegh smirked prettily, muttering under her breath: "How quaint. Shall we move out of theshadows, my dear, and blatantly spy on the next game?" 

"H'm, most certainly! I'll lead, " Catherine offered in good-natured sarcasm as the first chords of the minuet lilted over the ballroom. And with that, the girls linked arms and stroderegally across the ballroom steps towards the game room.   
  


**A Jewel of Fire and a Sea of Blue**

Now, it was a well-known fact that the game room was only inhabited by men. There were no written rules of etiquette that forbade women to enter the room, as long as they didn't gamble; yet the proper ladies of the time simply did not enter the game room. This unwritten rule of high society was ignored by the two charming girls, who all the while wore the sweetest veil of innocence since Hermes's deception of his mother to maskcow-stealing. 

Upon the entrance of the two young women, the game room fellmomentarily silent. But that lasted only a few seconds before the general murmur of conversation resumed; it was, however, noticeably quieter, and the language censored. 

Smiling sweet, indulgent smiles, the ladies Catherine and Caylieghnodded a warm greeting to those who were familiar to them as they passed. They made a direct path to the table at which the Prince of Wales, Sir Percy, and the French agent sat, attempting conversation. Cayliegh dropped behind Catherine who stepped delicately up to the Prince. "Your Majesty," she addressed him reverently with a deep curtsy. 

"Miss Catherine Yorkshire, simply charmed!" His Highness acknowledged the pretty little woman as she rose from her gallant gesture. She then turned to Sir Percy and extended her small, porcelain hand. "And a good evening to you as well, Sir Percy," she added, blushing ashe addressed her and kissed the tips of her fingers. 

"I'm honored, milady." 

Meanwhile Cayliegh had given her greeting and curtsy to the Prince, andwas now watching Catherine blush. The girls exchanged a momentary glance ofsympathy and understanding. They weren't blind, after all, and Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart., was very handsome. 

After releasing the charmed girl's hand, Sir Percy bowed again and took Cayliegh'shand. At this time His Highness the Prince of Wales gestured to the diminutive Frenchman who had been standing silently by. "Allow me to introduce the Chairman of Public Safety, Monsieur..." the Prince paused, obviously trying to recollect the man'sname. 

"Showbertin!" Sir Percy announced gaily. Then he appeared a trifle confused, "...or was it Shouvelin'? or perhaps--well sink me, I'm not so certain anymore; what is your name, anyway, mon-sewer?" he concluded indecisively. Catherine flinched at the badFrench. 

The little man appeared slightly agitated at the various mispronunciations of his name, but he quickly recovered an easy manner. " Chauvelin..." he said blandly, with a pointed look at Blakeney, who seemed either unaware of what that look meant, or he just simply didn't care. Chauvelin continued, "At your service, mademoiselles." He bowed deeply to accentuate his cordial words. The young ladies returned the gesture in two flourishes of colored satin anddainty lace. 

As if to help clear the air between Chauvelin and Blakeney, the Prince chuckled merrily, "My dear friend Sir Percy, though an excellent man of rhyme, I fear you have the most appallingFrench I've ever heard...even in England." 

The young women giggled, the Prince laughed good-naturedly, and eventhe stony Frenchman smiled...but Percy Blakeney positively guffawed. His mirthful and inane laugh rang over the highly vaulted ceiling, causing it to echo and re-echo like the laughing ghosts of past festivities. "I say," he managed, "why can't we just call you Chau-Chau, it's the most I canhandle of that God-forsaken language, ha-ha-HA!" 

This appeared to grate on Chauvelin's nerves, though he tried not to show it. He smirkedin response and commented, "Yes, I'm sure it is." 

Blakeney obviously didn't hear the last retort, for he had taken his handkerchief out and was proceeding to giggle into it. "Ah, these demmed French names, who comes up with thethem?" he inquired light-heartedly. 

"Probably French mums," Cayliegh murmured absently. 

"Ah-ha," Sir Percy responded with a clipped chuckle, "There are no "mums" in France, m'dear, that's an English word." 

"French mamans, then," Catherine interjected. 

"Well begad! It seems the little woman knows a bit of zee French, eh? Chau-Chau."Blakeney beamed an inane smile on the whole group. 

Chauvelin cleared his throat, but Catherine quickly went up to him, cutting him off before he could speak. "So, Monsieur Chauvelin, is it true that you beat our distinguished Sir Percy at cards not an hour ago?" she queried, trying to prevent further offense to the somewhatpeeved agent of the French Republic. 

At first he seemed unwilling to let the insult to his name pass unanswered, but after a second glance at Blakeney's tall, powerful figure, he wisely reverted his attention to the young mademoiselle at his side. He bowed his head humbly, "It was, indeed, a close game, but--" he threw a sarcastic glance at Blakeney, who was speaking in jovial tones to the Prince andCayliegh while flipping his handkerchief foppishly. Chauvelin continued, "--but in the end I wasthe victor, oui." 

Catherine smiled a dazzling smile, then inclined her head in a conspiratorial manner toward Chauvelin. "May I confide something in you, Monsieur?" 

"Certainly mademoiselle, my lips are sealed." 

"I'm not a pure-blooded Englishwoman." 

Chauvelin raised an eyebrow, urging her to continue. 

"My grandfather was French," Catherine concluded, leaning back to her usual posture. 

The French agent gave her a warm smile. "Well, citizeness," he lowered his voice until only she could hear him, "you do your grandfather's homeland proud." 

"La! Discussing those icky little frog legs?" Sir Percy calledmerrily. 

Catherine lowered her head, cocked an eyebrow, and a mischievous half-smile pulled at the corner of her pretty mouth. "Why no, Sir Percy," she proceeded to sachet over to him so that her right elbow touched his left, "we were discussing the fact that you seem to have been dealt a bad card or two by Fate, while our dear Chauvelin seems to have gotten a bit of what Ibelieve you call "beginner's luck"." 

"Ah yes, that little incident," he paused to step between Catherine and Cayliegh,offering an arm to each. "However, I'm feeling devilish lucky at the moment. Will Mon-sewer join me at a re-match? and will you lovely ladies stay to wish me good luck?" In response both women took Sir Percy's offered escort to the playing table, and Chauvelin fell in step behind them. "Come along, Your Majesty," Blakeney called over his shoulder, "I need anotherwitness." 

With that, all four guests settled down at the playing table. Sir Percy and Chauvelin across from each other, the Prince between them, and the two women on either side of Sir Percy. At this point His Majesty announced, "I do believe the clever little Frenchman will win again," intending to provoke Blakeney to defend himself, and thus allow him to poke fun atBlakeney all the more when the Frenchman won. 

"Fie, my good man," Sir Percy drawled passively, "don't think I'm gonna let that littlefrog-eater get all the glory." 

At this the Prince announced to all in the game room, "Hear ye, hear ye! Sir Percy Blakeney has challenged French agent Chauvelin to a round of cards!" And with those words, a crowd of men and a few bold women crowded up to the playing table. Sir Percy seemed quite unperturbed by this, and asked the Prince to please deal the cardsout. 

Finding an opportunity to slip away, Cayliegh and Catherine worked their way out of the crowd and back to the threshold of the ballroom. Standing at the top of the staircase overlooking the ballroom floor, they immediately noticed the billowing crimson dress and red-gold hair of the stunningly beautiful Marguerite Blakeney. She was dancing with Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, a well known gentleman who had recently shown great interest in one of the French girls saved by the Scarlet Pimpernel, Suzanne deTournay. Lady Blakeney seemed happy, and danced lightly and gracefully. Such was very becoming to one who was known as the"cleverest woman in Europe". 

"It seems so tragic," Cayliegh commented to her companion, "that a beautiful woman gifted with such an exquisite mind should be trapped in matrimony with the dullest of fops. Sheis like a jewel of fire." 

Catherine gave a melancholy nod, "Her husband appears as a sea of blue. So lovely and yet...his cold, icy waves seem to threaten to put out the fire of the jewel he has wedded." 

"And so they are," Cayliegh assented, "a jewel of fire and a sea of blue." 

**Lord Anthony Dewhurst**

Cayliegh and Catherine continued to stand there a moment longer, mulling over the situation in their heads. However, it was not long until two young men, obviously friends, came up to the two girls asking them to dance. Neither of them really felt like dancing, but they accepted the offers anyway and allowed themselves to be led down to the dance floor. Swept up in the tide of those dancing and the lilt of the music, both girls soon forgot about Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney as their partners addressed them in idle chatter. 'Cayliegh must have gotten the more interesting of the two boys,' Catherine thought as her dance partner, Siegfried, prattled on about the weather in southern Wales. Poor Siegfied was also no taller than Catherine, and she did not find this very romantic. Seeing an opportunity, Catherine ducked away when Siegfried spun her around, then turned to do his next motion in the dance. She quickly found cover behind a large pillar. "Ugh!" she sighed in spite of herself, "even the least creative ones talk about how beautiful I am, but this guy really believes he's engaging." Catherine turned to glance around the other side of the pillar, were she saw Cayliegh still dancing with the other boy. 'At least he's taller than she is,' Catherine mused. She saw Cayliegh laugh shyly as the raven-haired youth said something to her. 'Must be the "you are the envy of Helen of Troy" line again.' Catherine made a little smirk, recollecting how many times she had been compared to Venus. 

"I say, there," a voice behind Catherine addressed her, "you seem glad to be rid of that impudent jackanapes." 

Catherine whirled around to face the speaker. He was a tall man of excellent build, and jovial of face. Catherine guessed him to be about five and twenty. "Sir, I do not believe we've met before," Catherine began, a reserved manner about her stance. 

"Forgive me, milady," he nodded his head respectfully to her, "I am Anthony Dewhurst." 

"Anthony Dewhurst...you have no title?" Catherine asked, confused, but trying not to be rude. 

"Well, Lord Anthony, if you must know..." then he added, " but I was never really fond of titles." 

She smiled warmly at him, "Well, Lord Dewhurst, I am most pleased to meet your acquaintance, I am Catherine Yorkshire, Lady Catherine, if you care to address me that way." 

"Call me Tony, Lady Catherine," he smiled as he took her hand to administer a kiss to it. 

Catherine shyly lifted her other white-gloved hand to her lips, quite conscious of his friendly flirting. "Very well, Lord Tony, may I ask if you dance the gavotte?" 

"Most certainly, Lady Catherine, it was my first dance," he replied, sweeping her onto the dance floor. Catherine laughed merrily as she and her new (and much improved) dance partner glided and stepped across the floor. They talked of music and the arts, and later the utter absurdity of modern politics. Catherine danced until her feet were sore, many times passing by Cayliegh and her partner. 

As Catherine, Cayliegh and their partners were dancing side by side, Cayliegh gave a little gasp of surprise. Neither of the men noticed, but Catherine gave her friend a questioning look which asked her what was wrong. Cayliegh's eyes jerked to their right. Catherine's gaze followed her friend's...and then her eyes widened in astonishment. For not far away, Marguerite Blakeney was seen dancing with the French agent Chauvelin. Both girls thought this very strange, indeed. Their eyes met a moment, and a silent conversation ensued. Having known each other so long, the two young women could communicate their feelings without words. Suddenly Catherine gave a slight swoon and bowed her head. 

"Whatever is the matter, Lady Catherine?" Lord Tony asked, concerned. 

"I believe, clumsy girl that I am, I twisted my ankle." 

"Let me help you over to sidelines out of the action, milady," Lord Tony offered, slipping his arm around her waist and taking her other hand. 

"Thank you so much, milord," Catherine sighed, acting as if she could not make it on her own. 

"Oh, let me come with you, Catherine," Cayliegh pleaded, playing up the act, "I'm tired anyway, and surely you want some company." 

"Thank you, as well, Cayliegh, I don't know what I'd do without you." Catherine paused abruptly, realizing that she had probably taken that last line too far. 

Cayliegh covered for her, "Tobias," she turned to her dance partner of the past hour, "would you bring Catherine a drink? I don't care what kind...and bring some of the same for me and this kind man here," she gestured to Lord Tony. Then Cayliegh followed the other two to the deserted room that led from the ballroom. There, Lord Tony lowered Catherine into a seat. 

It was going just as the girls planned. Catherine's seat faced out into the ballroom, so she could watch Lady Blakeney and Chauvelin. Then Cayliegh made her move. "Excuse me just a moment, let me see if Tobias needs help with all those drinks." she turned to Catherine, "I'll be back in moment, dear." Then Cayliegh turned and swept out of the room and across the dance floor, soon vanishing amongst all the people. 

Catherine sighed as if relieved, and carefully spied out the door. Then Lord Tony struck up conversation again. "Are you quite all right now, Lady Catherine?" 

"Quite, Lord Tony, thank you so much. I just needed a moment's respite from the constant motion." 

"You're sure I didn't step on your foot or something else rather clumsy," he grinned. 

"Lud, no! It was my own clumsiness that did me in, but I shall be fine." 

"I don't think you're clumsy, just inexperienced. You should dance more, that would be all you need." 

"Are you offering me lessons, Lord Tony, or simply trying to make me feel better?" Catherine suddenly realized she wasn't paying attention to the dance floor, she had been so caught up in the conversation. She quickly reverted her gaze back to the ballroom, searching for Lady Blakeney and Chauvelin. 

"Both," Tony answered her question, "you seem very fond of dancing. In fact, you can't seem to keep your eyes off the dance floor." 

"I, um--I'm sorry, what did you say? I was watching the floor..." she smiled to illustrate her jest, and cover for the real purpose behind her facination with the floor. She looked out again, just in time to see Lady Blakeney and Chauvelin disappear from view. She realized she'd have to move if she wanted to continue her endeavors. "Could you please help me up milord?" 

He looked surprised. "You are ready to go back out so soon? You could re-injure yourself,and more severely." 

"So you confess you think I'm not a graceful dancer, hm?" Catherine chided him. 

"I never said that," he established. 

"Ah, but you were thinking that," she pursued, not one to give way. 

"I was not!" 

"Oh yes, you were!" 

"Nay!" 

"Yea!" 

At Catherine's final answer they both burst out laughing. "Look," she resumed, "I'll take you up on those aforementioned dancing lessons, now please help me up."Lord Tony complied with Catherine's wishes, the latter making quite a show of limping. She realized she felt a little guilty for using such a kind heart to her spying advantages. She decided to attempt conversation to make this interesting for him. "So, my Lord Tony," she wracked her brains, "do you by any chance...," 'Oh, what is that craze that all the university boys are going though?' Catherine tried to recall, "...have an interest in genealogy?" she finally stammered out. 

"Actually, yes," milord agreed, seemingly delighted that she should mention it. 

Catherine sighed inwardly, 'All men are the same...at least that makes them predictable in a prickly situation such as lack of conversation material.' "I've been doing some myself." was what she actually said, "And have thus far traced back to my great-grandparents." Catherine caught the fact he was trying to hide that he didn't find this very impressive, "--But then again,I've only been researching about a week." 

"Ah, I see, that explains it. Are you enjoying it?" 

"Yes, actually." 

"La then! Tell me about your ancestors." 

"Oh! Don't you wish to go first?" she tried, attempting to distract him. 

"Nea, milady first." Lord Anthony smiled a disarmingly handsome smile. 

Catherine made as if her ankle hurt to hide her blushing. "Oo! Dear me...Lud...well, then...ah yes, my family tree. My mother's maiden name was Mayberry, my grandmother's was Cartwright." 

"Those are two fine, English names." Lord Tony interjected, still smiling. 

"Thank you, milord. Now then, my father's side was a little more interesting. His mother'smaiden name was Messurier." 

"She was French?" 

"Yes, and so was my grandfather." 

"But Yorkshire is not French, m'dear." 

"Grandfather changed his name when he moved to England, which was before father was born. Grandfather's given last name was St. Just." 

Lord Tony, who had begun the opening steps of the waltz, stopped abruptly and stared at her as if in disbelief. "Dear lady..." he stammered, trying to regain himself, "pardon me for asking you to repeat yourself, but did you say...St. Just?" 

"Yes, Lord Tony. You have heard of my family, then?" 

"I believe so, much to my own surprise." 

"That is surprising! You do look genuinely dumbfounded, Lord Tony, as if someone had just slipped ice down your cravat." 

It was, indeed, an excellent likeness to my good Lord Anthony's expression. He did appear quite cowed. "I, well la, love." was all he could manage. 

Catherine giggled and lifted a hand to her lips, staring up at him. "Sink me! You must tell me what you know about my family that should give you such a silly expression." 

"Truly, dear..." he began, seeming to fight an urge to keep quiet, "...you know Lady Blakeney, am I correct?" 

"Ha! Lud, man, who doesn't?" 

"Then you also you knew her maiden name was St. Just?" 

--not finished--


	2. Within the Record Books

# On Account of That Demmed Elusive

## By [Bria][1]

**Within the Record Books**

Catherine froze. She stared at Anthony Dewhurst for nearly a solid minute before she mastered herself enough to breathe out, "Are you suggesting I'm related to Lady Blakeney?" 

Before Lord Tony could answer the obvious answer, Cayliegh and Tobias came briskly upto them, drinks in hand. 

"Goodness, Catherine, what are you doing up so soon? You look white as a ghost," Cayliegh said sympathetically, still acting her part to perfection. 

"Here, take this drink," Tobias suggested holding the wine glass out to her. Catherine gratefully took it with a muttered "thank you". 

"Here's a drink for you as well, my lord," Cayliegh offered a glass to Lord Tony, who appeared lost in thought. 

He shook his head slightly, coming out of his reverie. "Oh, thank you, m'lady," he spoke quietly. Then, as the clock struck one, he seemed to stiffen. "Sink me, I must be going! 'Tis quite late, and I still must make the long drive back to the manor after going about the lenghty task of wishing Sir Percy, the Prince of Wales, and mine generous host a good-night." 

"Well then, wish us good-night first, and do tell me your name," Cayliegh smiled. 

Lord Tony bowed to Cayliegh and answered, "Lord Anthony Dewhurst, at your service milady...but perhaps another time. Good-night to you and your dance partner, here." He shook Tobias's hand and then turned to Catherine. A look almost of sadness crept into his sea green eyes. "And of course good-night to you, Lady Yorkshire," he concluded, taking her hand. 

"Fare thee well, Lord Dewhurst. Perhaps we shall meet again." Catherine tried not to sound as melancholy as she felt at his leaving. 

"Oddss life, msdear...of course we shall meet again." 

He nodded to them all once more, then turned on his heel and strode across the ballroom. He was soon out of sight. Catherine couldn't help but wonder when she would see him again. 

"Forgive us, Tobias, but we, too, must depart." It was Cayliegh who had spoken. 

Catherine turned to face her friend and Tobias. 

"It has been a most lovely evening, and your company was quite enjoyable," Cayliegh continued. 

Catherine couldn't help but wonder why they were leaving an hour before their scheduled time, but she didn't question Cayliegh's motives. Both the young women were to stay at Cayliegh's mansion tonight, and surely they'd be up all night talking. 

Catherine went through the empty cermony required when saying farewell almost mechanically, then turned and began walking slowly away to where Lord Grenville was entertaining guests. A few seconds later she heard Cayliegh's light trod behind her. 

_--next morning around ten o'clock--_

"This may take quite a while," Cayliegh scolded. "I'm willing to devote the time." 

"That's because it's your family. The town's records of immigration are quite formidably large, and probably aren't that accurate." 

"It's worth a try, especially since I know my grandfather's given name." Catherine's voice was firm, and absolutely determined. Cayliegh knew there was no stopping her friend when she got that hell-bent look in her eye. 

But that didn't keep Cayliegh from trying. "Catherine, St. Just is a common Frenchname." 

"Lord Tony seemed to think it was possible." 

"Oh not him again!" Cayliegh admonished impatiently, "That's all I hear about from you." 

"As if you can stop singing the praises of Tobias," Catherine smirked, then clutched at the seat as their coach hit a particularly vicious bump in the road. Then all fell silent as the coach bumped and jostled it's way down to the old building where the records were kept. 

When they arrived, it had begun to drizzle a light mist outside, which was typical English weather. Straightening her tailored overcoat, (set into style by Marguerite Blakeney) Catherine stepped down the echoing hallway that doubled as a foyer area. As she moved down the long hall she could hear Cayliegh grumbling behind her. Catherine smiled, "She's probably dying to know almost as much as I am." Then as Catherine reached the edge of the poorly lit hallway, she gasped as she found herself in a huge and ornate library. 

The room was two stories high, and decorated in the Romanesque style with vaulting ceilings of carved, aged oak. The ceiling itself was dome-shaped and covered with a beautiful painted mural. The first story was separated from the second by a wrap-around boardwalk that circled the entire room. As Catherine moved further out and looked back, she saw that the wall up to the door frame was a bookshelf, completely packed with various forms of literature. 

The dim lantern lighting lent an enchanted feel to the place, and the two girls lost themselves amoment in the pure magic of their surroundings. 

Suddenly a man's voice called out to them. His voice sounded far away. This was probably because he spoke fairly softly and was at least one hundred twenty feet away. "How may I help you ladies?" he asked in a thick, Irish brogue. The sound reverberated hauntingly. 

Catherine inadvertently started. "Oh, we were looking for the immigration records," she called, still breathless with wonder. 

"That'll be on the second floor, just take the wooden staircase on your left." The two young women turned to face the staircase. Cayliegh moved toward it and Catherine turned to follow. "Wait a minute!" the man called after them, "You'll need a lantern up there, despite the fact the windows are open." As he turned to fetch a lantern, Catherine noticed for the first time the windows that were on the second floor, and almost as tall as the entire story. There were four of these amazing windows, evenly spaced with deep indigo velvet curtains. This drew Catherine's attention back to the mural, and she wondered what the painting was depicting. 

At this point the man returned with a the promised lighted lantern. It was by that light that Catherine saw his face for the first time. He appeared to be about five and fifty, with long, silver hair bound back in a ponytail, and flashing, pale blue eyes. He was fairly tall, though not nearly so much as was Percy Blakeney, the tallest man Catherine knew. The stranger appeared quite athletic and well-built, and he carried himself in an upright posture which complimented his build. His dress was simple, but irreproachable. Catherine took an immediate liking to him. 

"Thank you, sir." Catherine took the lantern he offered to her. "May I ask you a question or two about this library?" 

"Most certainly." 

"What is the mural on the ceiling?" 

"Those represent the nine muses, milady," he replied nonchalantly, as if added words were not necessary to promote the painting's splendor. And, indeed, he was right. 

"It's beautiful. Are there anything besides archives and records here?" 

"Actually, yes. Though only such archives and records are mentioned, those only make up the second floor. The first floor is a collection of classic literature from around the world." 

"Ohhh," Catherine heard Cayliegh breathe behind her. They both loved a good book, and this place had literally thousands of books, and undoubtedly many rare ones. 

"Thank you so much, sir," Catherine fairly sighed, then made as if to turn around, then paused. "How are the records classified?" 

"They are in alphabetical order according to last name, and the A's start at that large panel, there," he gestured to the dividing panel. 

"Thank you again, sir. Oh, and--this is my last question, I promise--what is your name?" 

He raised a silver eyebrow mischievously, "What does that have to do with the record books?" 

"Nothing, I was just curious since it would be must easier to call you by name," Catherine ventured more carefully. 

He chuckled softly, for this place of great thoughts, great works, and of great beauty seemed to command the reverence of a lowered voice. "My name is O'Seanehan, Milo O'Seanehan." 

"I'm most happy to meet you, Monsieur O'Seanehan," Catherine dipped her head delicately, finding that a trace of her French accent, that always showed up when she was emotional, had surfaced. This place did inspire much emotion and awe in her. "My name is Catherine Yorkshire, and this is Cayliegh Aaron." Cayliegh also nodded her greeting. 

"Well, Miss Yorkshire, Miss Aaron, feel free to call down to me if you need anything." With that Milo O'Seanehan turned and walked back to the far end of the room, where a book lay open on an old and worn armchair. 

Cayliegh and Catherine then climbed the stair and began their search for the book containing names beginning with 'S'. That was easy enough, since there were two voluminous albums containing 'S' names. Cayliegh sighed emphatically, "All right, well St. Just will most likely be in the second tome they have here, so let's start in that one." 

Cayliegh groaned with the weight of the album, which was inconveniently placed on the bottom shelf. Catherine helped her friend hoist it up and prop the book up against the railing encircling the boardwalk. "Very well, I guess I'll start in the middle," Catherine thought aloud, taking a firmer hold on the album's cover. Flipping it open, she began her search. 

The minutes ticked slowly by. Cayliegh fidgeted with the edge of her shawl absently. 

Finally she got too bored to stand it any longer. "Cathy-dear, since you're so deeply involved there, I believe I'll do a little research on my own family." 

Catherine grinned, "Caught up in the genealogy craze, Miss Cay?" she taunted playfully, never taking her eyes off the task at hand. 

Cayliegh grimaced irritably, "La no, but somehow watching you bury your nose in a dusty old tome is just not my idea of quality entertainment." 

Catherine laughed lightly, "Touchi...go ahead, then, I won't provoke you." 

So Cayliegh went off and left Catherine to her 'studies'. The passing of fifteen minutes found Catherine eagerly running her finger down the list of St. Just's. Suddenly she stopped and pulled the record book closer, thus examining it more carefully. Then a little gasp of delight escaped her lips...she found her grandfather's line. He was the second-born of three children, the eldest having died at birth, the youngest having married and stayed in France. Catherine felt her heart rate quicken. Almost feverishly she scanned down the youngest sister's line...and there it was. "Marguerite St. Just, born 1767 in Paris." Catherine's heart then decided to leap into her throat. "It's true...Lord Tony was right...Marguerite's my cousin..." 

"Zounds!...Cayliegh..." Catherine whispered quietly, then frantically, "Oh Lud! Cayliegh! Cayliegh!" Catherine supported the tome on her hip and skittered toward Cayliegh, who was nearly on the other side of the room. Cayliegh also had a rather large book supported on the railing, and appeared equally occupied until Catherine came up to her. "Oh Cayliegh!" Catherine breathed, obviously quite enthused. 

"It's true, then," Cayliegh smiled. It had not been a question. 

"Indeed 'tis so!" By this time Catherine had regained her composure and was simply smiling to indulge her feelings of excitement. "It is always a treat to make a discovery," she added whimsically. 

"Well, I must say, I've become rather curious about the dead meself, and am now searching for my father's side of the family." 

"Begad, you really are involved in this...by all means, Cayliegh, have fun, good Lud, wehave all day, eh-what?" Catherine prattled merrily. 

"H'm," Cayliegh grinned at her friend's silliness, "quite so." 

For the next few moments silence reigned as Cayliegh continued to flip through her tome, and Catherine wondered what to do in the light of her discovery. Her practical nature had returned, and by now she couldn't help but wonder, "Now that I've made the connexion, what shall I do about it? Lady Blakeney doesn't know me personally, nor do I know her. Perhaps I could bring it up again in casual conversation with Sir Percy..." Such was the inner plotting of a young woman who was a born plotter. Catherine came up with the ideas, Cayliegh refined them into something feasible. Catherine was about to question Cayliegh for her opinion on that same plotting, when the latter did something remarkable. 

Cayliegh swore. This was more than enough to get her friend's attention. 

"Sink me! What did you just say?" Catherine admonished. In reply, Cayliegh merely gestured to a single line within the sea of words, arranged like soldiers in their ranks. Catherine gasped femininely, raising her hand to her bosom. "Heaven...is it the same line?" 

"Look for yourself."   
  


**An Invitation**

"Percival Blakeney, born 1764." Catherine read aloud, utterly dumbfounded. 

"He is my cousin, Catherine," Cayliegh whispered incredulously. 

"That is unbelievable! Your cousin is married to my cousin!" 

"What were the chances...and that we would be best friends. BeGAD!" Cayliegh whispered, swearing for the second time that day. 

"Quite so...an interesting twist of Fate. Look, why don't we discuss this over lunch at my house? The morning is waning, and we will be expected home soon." 

"Yes, yes, we shouldn't keep Lord Yorkshire and his lady waiting." Cayliegh agreed, turning to shelve the record book. Catherine walked briskly back to the self where she had found the book in hand, and returned it to it's rightful place. 

Cayliegh was waiting for her at the stairs. 

The girls rushed down and made for the door. Then, remembering her manners, Catherine turned and called out to Milo Seanehan, "Thank you, sir!" 

A muffled, "Anytime, m'ladies," was heard echoing across the domed library in a soft brogue. 

Their carriage was waiting outside, and the two young women traveled the next quarter of an hour in silence. As the carriage came upon the cultivated gardens of the Yorkshire mansion, Cayliegh broke the silence. "I should love to contact them, and tell them what we've found; I'm sure they'd be interested." 

"Hm, I believe so, but how do you propose we tell them without looking like silly little children? They don't really know us--" 

"Sir Percy knows us, you may recall." 

"--ah yes, that is the truth of it, but Lady Blakeney has never heard of us." 

   [1]: mailto:gyp_c@angelfire.com



	3. The Invite

A/N. I'm so sorry it took so long to post the next chapter. My life is WAY too busy! However, I will try to finish this fic before September rolls around. To those who waited patiently, thank you so much--and also my apologies ahead of time, for I have no beta reader, and there may be some grammatical errors. Unless I haven't mentioned it (or if it isn't obvious), these characters belong to Baroness Orzcy. No copyright infringement intended.  
  
  
Cayliegh pursed her lips contemplatively. Then an idea seemed to light up her features from the inside, out. "Why of course! It's so simple...you are an actress, Cathy, tell her you wish to meet with her to discuss technique!"  
  
Catherine turned slightly green and did not answer. Cayliegh supposed it was from the bumpy carriage ride, and worried no more.  
  
Inside the manor an hour later, Cayliegh began dictating a letter to Catherine. The invitation to tea was addressed to Sir Percival and Lady Blakeney. Catherine no longer looked green, but decidedly unsettled. Cayliegh thought to ask her companion what was troubling her after they finished the invitation. "Sir Percival and his Lady Blakeney..." Cayliegh began.  
  
"Oh and that doesn't sound precocious," Catherine hissed.  
  
Cayliegh was vaguely annoyed. What could be eating at Catherine? Cayliegh resolved to find out before they continued the invitation. If Catherine was upset her handwriting looked simply monstrous, and Cayliegh didn't want to have to re-copy the letter. "What is at your throat, Catherine?"  
  
"Come again?" she answered vaguely, massaging her temples.  
  
"You seem ill at ease. What's bothering you?"  
  
Catherine could never hide her feelings from anyone who truly wanted to know them. She looked hard at Cayliegh as she intoned, "How do expect me not to make a fool of myself in front of her?"  
  
Cayliegh was momentarily puzzled. "Oh, you mean Lady Blakeney? Never fear Cathy, you are talented in your field. I'm sure you will have much to talk about."  
  
Catherine lowered her gaze. "Yes, of course...how silly of me." She did not look comforted.  
  
"What makes you so unsure of yourself? It's uncharacteristic--"  
  
"Merely that," Catherine broke in, not in anger, but almost resignedly, "I used to idolize her in my early student years...how she reacts means a lot to me, Cay. I'm just nervous, that's all."  
  
Cayliegh smiled a warm smile. 'Poor dear, she tries so hard for the sake of her art.' "No need to be nervous; what is this but another performance for a select audience? Besides, I'll be there to help the conversation along."  
  
At last Catherine relaxed. A small smile pulled at the edges of her lips. "Thank you Cay. And who knows?--this may be the start of your acting career."  
  
Feeling much better about every aspect of their plan, the young ladies set to work on their letter of invitation.  
  
~~four days later~~  
  
Both ladies were about to jump out of their skins in prolonged agitation. They had gone shopping, and each girl had bought a beautiful new summer dress to entertain their guests in. Cayliegh's was a soft, rose petal pink which complimented her flowing golden hair. White lace accented the shoulder line, sleeves, and hem of the dress. Catherine had bought a pale yellow dress, also with white accents. The cut of the dresses, while not identical, were similar to each other, in such encouraging many giggled comments about looking like twins. They joked thus knowing full well they looked nothing like each other.  
  
But the shopping trip had been two days ago, and now a strained, anxious feeling was nearly palpable in the room where Catherine and Cayliegh waited impatiently for the noon mail service. "Late as usual," Catherine had grumbled.  
  
Cayliegh stared out a lovely French window. "Maybe we should write again? Or is that improper these days?  
  
"I believe the latter to be true," Catherine sighed, waiting for an inspiration to come, all the same. Much to her surprise, an inspiration did come, but not concerning letter-writing. "Cayliegh, I think we need to go back to the library archives." Cayliegh gave her a look that said to continue her thought. "We probably need the specific information regarding which line connects our families to theirs. In fact, I'd feel foolish without it."  
  
Cayliegh nodded her agreement and checked the clock on the mantle. "The carrier should be here any minute...I'll stay and wait for him. As much as I would love to visit Mr. Seanehan and the fabulous library again, I must see if this response arrives. If it does, and the date has not been changed, we will need to be ready tomorrow."  
  
"Very well, I'll go get the genealogical information we need, and be back within a couple hours."  
  
Half an hour later Catherine was walking down the dimly lit corridor of the library, anticipating its beauty upon reaching the door frame. It was just as breath-taking as she had remembered it. Immediately she looked to the far wall where she last saw Milo Seanehan.   
  
He was seated in the old chair reading, looking much as he had the first time Catherine had visited. She called out to him in a searching whisper, "Monsieur Seanehan..." The man looked up.  
  
"Mamselle Yorkshire, welcome back," he spoke gently, rising as he did so. Catherine smiled and moved toward him. Mr. Seanehan met her halfway across the floor. Catherine was about to speak to him, but another voice called from above her.  
  
"Lady Yorkshire!"  
  
Catherine looked up in the direction of the masculine voice she had heard. It sounded vaguely familiar.   
  
She looked just in time to see Anthony Dewhurst climbing down the southwest stairs. Her insides gave a small flutter. What could he be doing here? 'His own genealogy of course,' Catherine reprimanded her stupidity.  
  
"You know Lord Dewhurst, I presume?" Mr. Seanehan's voice inquired in his soft, gentle brogue.   
  
"Yes, I have had the honour of his acquaintance," Catherine smiled, turning to Lord Tony as he approached them.  
  
"Why my dear lady, I hardly expected to find you here this afternoon." He smiled graciously, "Will you let me keep company with you?"  
  
Catherine fought the blush that rose at her neck. "Of course, milord." She turned to Mr. Seanehan. "Have you a lantern I may borrow yet again, Monsieur?"  
  
"I believe milord already has one, mamselle. Will you be requiring another?" asked Mr. Seanehan.  
  
Catherine felt certain she blushed that time. Why wasn't she thinking straight? "I suppose not, monsieur."  
  
Milo Seanehan went back to his book, and Lord Tony escorted a flustered Catherine to the staircase. "I expect you are doing family research as well?" Lord Tony initiated the conversation.  
  
"Why yes, Lord Anthony, you've found me out," Catherine quipped lamely.  
  
Lord Tony however, did not seem to note her lack of characteristic wit. "Please call me Tony, Lady Catherine, I'll respond to no other name from your lips."  
  
Faced with the painful concept of a silent fifteen minutes or more, Catherine relented. "Very well then...Tony," Catherine practically choked. He gave her an encouraging smile. "...but you must call me Catherine, or I'll not keep my end of the bargain."   
  
Tony smiled again, but this was a smile of fond resignation. "If you insist Catherine. Now, can I help you find a volume?"  
  
"Oh no, I can manage...thank you Tony." Catherine watched him glow like a schoolboy at the sound of his pet name.  
  
A sudden thought struck Catherine. Tony was often in the company of Percy Blakeney. Perhaps he would know why there had been no response to their letter. Tony had begun to move away to another shelf, and before she could stop herself Catherine called out, "Lord Tony!"   
  
He ignored her. Peeved, Catherine sighed, "Oh Tony, for God's sake!"   
  
Tony turned and grinned like an imp. Catherine told him as much, then asked, "Tony, have you seen Sir Percy Blakeney of late?"  
  
His mouth opened and for a moment no sound came out. An oddly reserved expression cloaked his habitually open countenance. "Not...lately milady. Do you have need of him?"  
  
"Milady? Lud, Tony what has come over you? I merely wondered why he had not responded to my invitation to tea Cayliegh and I sent four days ago."  
  
Tony relaxed a little, but he did not seem his usual, jovial self. "Well, Catherine...I'm not certain. Should I inquire after him for you?"  
  
Catherine narrowed her eyes, set her head at an angle, and pouted prettily before responding. "I would appreciate it Tony, if it would not trouble you to do so." Her voice was formal, with a slight edge on the word "if".  
  
Suddenly Tony looked very tired. He passed a hand over his eyes before sighing unhappily, "Of course it is no trouble. Honestly, Catherine, I'd fetch you the moon if I could."  
  
Utterly surprised by the appearance of such sentiment, Catherine dropped her act. Concern knitted her delicate brows, and a strange feeling down her spine urged her to move closer to him. "Tony..."  
  
He looked up at her, gentle lines of care writ across his features. Catherine allowed herself to gaze into those sea-green eyes. What could be tormenting him so? Was it anything to do with Sir Percy? "Tony are well?" she whispered, "because you look as though...something is burdening you."  
  
Tony stared back into her glistening, dark eyes. Before he could think his hand moved to her chin. "It will soon put itself to right, Catherine." She looked softly at him. His hand fell back to his side, saying, "I apologize, for I must quit your company for the time being. I shall make a personal visit to Sir Percy's manor later this afternoon. Good evening, Catherine."   
  
"Good evening...Tony..." There was a question in Catherine's tone as he bowed, then turned on his heel without a further word.  
  



End file.
